


Ori'shya tal'din

by RazorCrestCoPilot



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Din Djarin Needs a Hug, F/M, Fluff and Angst, How Do I Tag, Mandalorian Reader, Mando'a Language (Star Wars), My First Fanfic, Post-Season/Series 02, Rating May Change, Self-Indulgent, Slavery, Slow Burn, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:13:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28988319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RazorCrestCoPilot/pseuds/RazorCrestCoPilot
Summary: To the Mandalorian who follow the Way, to loose your armor is to loose your very soul. It is one of the 6 pillars that make them what they are...without it you can no longer be Mando’ad. And so, when yours is stolen from you by those you once called family you loose more then just your protective shell...you loose your heritage, your past, and any hope for a honorable future. But hope is a funny thing, hard for even a trained Mandalorian warrior to kill completely if you know where to look. In your case you may have found a glimpse in the flash of sunlight on beskar and the kindness of a lonely wanderer also in search of something he once believed to be gone forever.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Reader, Din Djarin/You, The Mandalorian/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 28





	1. Dar’manda

**Author's Note:**

> Ori'shya tal'din - more than blood  
> Dar’manda - a term for those who where once mandalorian but have lost their way and thus their very soul Literally ‘no longer mandalorian’
> 
> This is my very time writing, both in general and for the Star Wars universe so, while I’ll try to keep it as canon-compliment as possible I’m not making any promises. Most of my research for this was focused on mandalorian culture but I’m absolutely not an expert. Some of it is just me making things up to fill in gaps though. Plus this is really just self-indulgence to keep me from going mad while I wait till December. 
> 
> takes place post S2, so my girl the Razor Crest is RIP. I’m a sucker for touch-starved, awkward, ‘unbelievably kind but won’t admit it’ Mando. Reader insert, no y/n. Possible eventual rating change if I’m not a coward. I’m also a slut for Mando’a so expect some fancy mandalorian talk, I’ll try my best to make it make sense but it’s not really a complete language so...lastly be kind. I’m new at this.

“I heard you’d got yourself a Mandalorian, but  _ this _ !” The fat merchant threw back his head and laughed. 

“Oh, no.” Din’s companion shook his head quickly, glancing nervously in his direction. “Nothing for the sort, I assure you. Mando was simply kind enough to escort us, as he was traveling this way.” 

“Really? I wasn’t aware they were so civil minded.” The fat man sneered “bloodthirsty is what I’ve heard. And nothing I’ve seen has proven otherwise.”

He didn’t move, refusing to rise to the bait, but Din could feel his fingers twitching next to his holster. He hated rich fucks like this. Though the man was human he might as well have been Huut, even looked like he might be distantly related. 

Only the 6 or so well armed guards kept his blaster at his side. He could probably take them but he doubted the man, woman and 3 children he’d been traveling with would fare well. 

He’d met them while hunting, his quarry part of a gang of thugs who’d attacked the transport the family was traveling with. The bastards made quick work of the hired protection, only Din’s arrival had saved the little ones from becoming orphaned slaves. He’d unfortunately had to kill his bounty, cutting his reward almost in half which meant he’d end the hunt at a loss. 

The father of the family he’d saved, however, offered to pay him double the dead man's original bounty if he would see them safely to and from their destination. The bounty hunter had agreed.

If he’d still had the Crest this would have been so much easier, but ship-less he’d been forced to leave the body behind, only taking what he hoped would be sufficient proof of death. 

The journey had been uneventful. A three day trip in a droid-run transport vessel. The man was timid but kind, a wealthy textile merchant making his yearly trip to his guild headquarters. His wife was spirited, refusing to stay at home. A true partnership as well as a happy marriage...a rare thing nowadays. He found he liked them both.

It was the children though, who had really made up his mind. Little things, two beautiful girls and a baby boy too young to even walk. Temporary fatherhood had made him soft, apparently. It has been almost a year since he’d let Grogu go but watching these youngsters made his chest tighten like it was yesterday.

And watch them he did. At first he tried not to, aware of the optics of the thing. But once it became clear that their parents had their hands a little too full with the baby and preparing for their arrival Din couldn’t stop himself. He watched those girls like a Hawk, never interacting or engaging but always aware. 

To his surprise their mother wasn’t put off by the idea of a strange man holding vigil over her young daughters. In fact she seemed grateful for the help. 

Now, three days later, sitting across from this disgusting example of a person Din could help but glance over at the children. All three clung to their mother, clearly unhappy to be here but aware they shouldn’t make a fuss. His jaw clenched painful as he realized, had he not been there to save them they would probably have ended up here anyway, as merchandise instead of as guests. 

Ripping his mind away from the thought he tried distracting himself by sizing up his guards, only half listening to the dull conversation still happening. Something about shipping and taxes. They weren’t anything special, but their equipment was top of the line. 

Din shifted a little, suddenly struck by an odd feeling. Something was...off. Not dangerous or alarming...just odd. There were 6 obvious guards but he knew there was probably more tucked away somewhere. Slavers were always cowards and never had a shortage of people to use as fodder. Three slaves stood motionless behind there master, holding various refreshments as if they were nothing more then furniture.

Two women in little more than their underclothes lounged not far away, on either side of the engorged man. Both were lovely but the one closest to him quickly captured his attention.

She was human, tan and muscular while still maintaining a very feminine air. From a distance she looked relaxed, lounging on the thin fabric placed over stone and holding an ornate fan in her perfectly manicured fingers.

But from this close he could see every muscle in her body was tight, like an Anooba ready to pounce. She lay completely still, eyes trained forward, staring intently at nothing. The other woman, laying in a similar position, was lazy fanning herself. She was completely relaxed, obviously bored, so he knew it probably wasn’t something she’d need ordered to do.

Din couldn’t help but stare, almost unaware he was doing it. She was beautiful, but not in the wispy way women in her position usually are. He could make out the faint lines of scar tissue on her thighs and stomach. They looked like vibroblade marks, even a couple that could be from a blaster. He could just make out the edge of a tattoo peeking over one shoulder but couldn’t see enough to make it out.

He suddenly wanted to know what it was. If she had more. 

He wasn’t usually one for lustful thoughts but it wasn’t very often he was presented with a sight like this. This was a woman with the body of a warrior. He wondered if she had the spirit of one as well.

“Oh ho, look at this.” The ugly creature snorted “recognize one of your own, eh  _ Mando _ ?”

Din froze, tearing his gaze away from the woman who had somehow become even more rigid to slowly look at her master. Part of him praying he’d misheard, or misinterpreted the man.

_ One of your own _

“She’s a pretty little thing, isn’t she.” He continued as if he didn’t have almost 6 feet of mandalorian quickly losing his patients a few yards away. “Don’t let it fool you, bitch can kill a man with nothing but her bare hands. Not that surprising, considering where I got her from.”

He sneered again, chuckling as if he’d just told quite a joke. Din felt cold, unsure how to react. He could be lying just to get a rise out of him. Idiots like him always pulled shit like that, happy to poke the bear from behind their line of bodyguards. 

But something about her reaction, before all this, the uncomfortable stiffness in her body, told him otherwise.

“Wanna know where I got her?” The ugly grin on the slavers fat face leaned closer as he reached out to pull on the thin golden chair attached to the slave collar around her neck, forcing her head up and giving them all a better look at her long, slender throat. “Bought her off a couple of hunters, a lot like you, about two years back. Ran up some debts gambling. Even had the same getup...though it was a lot less shiny. She did too, kinda wish they’d included it...seeing you now...but they took it with them. Not sure how they did it, you should have  _ seen _ her when she finally came too. Killed 4 guards, though I’d have to put her down. But we came to an...agreement didn’t we darling.”

Only the orange leather of his gloves saved his fingernails from drawing blood from his palm. For a second he forgot about the children and the family and the guards. His hand moved like lightning to his blaster, ready to shut the bastard up for good. 

“Ke’pare!” A sharp female voice hissed. Din froze. “Nu’cuyir di’kut, Mando’ad! Ibic gar n’akaan.”

The would-be dead man, apparently unaware of just how close he’d been to meeting his end, glared down at the woman. 

“What the hell was that?” He asked, as if he’d just smelled something unpleasant.

Ignoring him, Din stood still for a moment, then looked away. It had been so long since he’d heard someone speak to anyone in that language...he was a little ashamed he’d had to translate into basic. 

_ Wait  _ she’d said in clear and unwavering Mando’a  _ don’t be an idiot, Mandalorian! This isn’t your fight. _

The sentiment was clear but it was the wording that gave him pause. She’d called him ‘mando’ad’,  _ mandalorian _ …implying the title belonged to him alone, instead of the more inclusive ‘ner vod’,  _ my friend  _ or  _ brother _ that he would expect from a fellow mandalorian. 

But she spoke the language, and she  _ looked  _ like a mandalorian would, out of their armor. Still…

The conversation shifted and the fucker seemed to lose interest, releasing the chain and letting her relax.

She didn’t. She spent the rest of the time staring at the same spot of nothing, trying to ignore the flashes of sunlight on beskar every time Din shifted his weight from one foot to the next as he too, got lost in the blankness of smooth stone walls. 

——————

Why do they always host these stupid things outside. Even in the shade it’s uncomfortably warm. Times like these your actual almost thankful for the scarcity of your required attire. 

Almost. 

Two years has done little to ease your anxiety at being so...exposed. Coming from a culture of almost obsessive physical secrecy made your current, almost naked, state more than just uncomfortable. 

Not that any of that mattered. You had no more control over your outfit then you had over any aspect of your life. So was the lot of a slave. The only freedom you had was the freedom to think, and even that was limited unless you wanted to drive yourself mad. 

At least you weren’t alone today. Asha, a sweet little thing with wide brown eyes and a head as empty as a Jedi temple, lay demurely across from you. She was one of your master’s favorites, meaning you wouldn’t have to stomach to much of the bastards attention. 

Honestly you weren’t exactly sure why you were even here today. Normally days like this, when the master was meeting with friends and influential people you’d be as far away as possible. He reserved you for special occasions, specifically when he needed to intimidate or impress someone. Usually it ended with someone’s blood on your hands and a body at your feet. 

There was little chance of that today though. This wasn’t the massive complex you’d been forced to call home for two years...just an inn in a small town outside of the planets trade capital. Even this monster wouldn’t risk murdering someone in such a public space. 

But something  _ was  _ up. You could feel it. No way the bastard would be  _ this _ excited for a courtesy call from a textile merchant, especially one with such an anti-slavery reputation. If he was bringing you along for more security he was a fool. You’d no more raise a finger in his defense than for the bastards who’d sold you. Plus the collar you wore would hit you with enough electricity to kill a bantha if you so much as walked to quickly. 

So you waited, unable to do anything else, and watched. What was about to happen, you’d deal with the same way you always did. 

Your confidence wavered the moment you saw the first flash of beskar. What the fuck was a  _ mandalorian _ doing here? It had been your one solace, the covert that once operated on this planet had fallen just before you’d ended up in your current situation. There was no  _ reason  _ for a mandalorian to be here…unless 

No. After a closer look you were sure you didn’t know this man. Not only was his armor unfamiliar but something about the way he stood told you he was too confident and worldly to be one of the sniveling rats who’d once scurried through the tunnels below the city. 

Somehow it made it all worse. It was bad enough to be seen so completely by the random masses...but to be so exposed before a mandalorian who’s oath was unbroken was beyond humiliating. 

Somehow it made the last two years suddenly  _ real _ . You now had a true witness to your failure. Even the fact that he had no way of knowing what he was witnessing did little to soften the blow. 

As if the universe was determined to make you suffer, you suddenly became aware of his eyes on you. It wasn’t the hot, disturbing feeling of being leered at, just a curious gaze from a man trying to distract himself. You tried to tell your body to relax, but knew it was pointless. 

Unfortunately you weren’t the only one who noticed the armored mans attention. 

“Oh ho, look at this.” You wanted to throw up. “recognize one of your own, eh  _ Mando _ ?”

The mandalorian froze, turning to look at your master. You wished you could feel relief now that you were no longer pinned under his gaze but the hard line of his body put you on edge.

“She’s a pretty little thing, isn’t she.” You wished he’d just shut up. Mandalorians weren’t known for their forgiving nature and wouldn’t take kindly to the obvious insult of taking one of their comrades as property. If things got violent you knew it would be the bounty hunter in chains. “Don’t let it fool you, bitch can kill a man with nothing but her bare hands. Not that surprising, considering where I got her from.”

“Wanna know where I got her?” Apparently the ugly fuck had a serious death wish. Suddenly you were being pulled forward, forced to extend out your neck to avoid being burned by the static collar. You could just barely see the statuesque man out of the corner of your eye. “Bought her off a couple of hunters, a lot like you, about two years back. Ran up some debts gambling. Even had the same getup...though it was a lot less shiny. She did too, kinda wish they’d included it...seeing you now...but they took it with them. Not sure how they did it, you should have  _ seen _ her when she finally came too. Killed 4 guards, though I’d have to put her down. But we came to an...agreement didn’t we darling.”

No time to think, you react the moment you sense movement. 

“Ke’pare!” You almost surprise yourself, half meaning to speak in basic. Instead you draw strength from the feeling of the familiar but neglected words. “Nu’cuyir di’kut, Mando’ad! Ibic gar n’akaan.”

It did the trick, with the added bonus of startling your master enough to take his attention away from the mandalorian. Always a fickle man, he lost interest in what he was doing as soon as it became clear he wasn’t going to get what he wanted. 

You doubt he was even aware of how close he’d been to dead. 

You spent the rest of the agonizingly long afternoon pretending to be anywhere else, only taking comfort in the fact that once this was over you’d never have to think about it again. 

And end it did. Finally, as the shadows drew long the two merchants said their goodbyes and you tried not to watch as the last glimpse of beskar disappeared behind the gates. 

Your master said nothing to you as you were dismissed. All you wanted was to run as fast as you could out of that place, but you were forced to make your way carefully to your master’s assistant so he could finally remove the ugly thing around your neck. 

True to form it took the man twice as long as it should have to complete the simple task, forcing you to endure the endless filth the man seemed to spew from his mouth. He didn’t dare touch you but he made it very clear what he’d do if he could. 

Part of you wished he’d try, knowing he’d be dead long before his guards would be able to stop you. But after way to long you were forced to leave him behind, regrettable alive and intact, as you made your way towards your temporary home. 

It took you longer than you care to admit to realize the tingle on the back of your neck was more than just residual anxiety. It wasn’t until you were being roughly dragged down a dark side street and through an old wooden door that it hit you. 

Unarmed you were still more than a match for most people but it became clear very quickly your attacker wasn’t most people. 

All you had to do was turn and face them for the fight to seep out of you. 

The mandalorian stood before you, large gloved hands holding firm on each of your upper arms. He was huge, not just tall but broad. Instinctively you stepped back, pressing against the wall. 

Surprisingly he let you, releasing his hold and making no attempt to move closer. Not that he needed to, he stood between you and the only door to what looked like an old cellar. 

“I’m not going to hurt you.” His voice startled you. He didn’t sound how you’d expected. It was gruff and a little gravely but overall...pleasant...almost soft. “I just wanna talk.”

“You always hold casual conversation surrounded by someone’s canned mugroot?” You answer dryly, slightly put off by how  _ at ease _ you feel. Your tone seems to have a calming effect on him, strange guy, as he sighed and sits down on an old metal crate.

“Rather here then back in that courtyard.” He shrugged. You shift your weight, not used to being addressed so casually. 

The two of you sit in silence for a few minutes. He doesn’t actually look at you, instead spends the time looking around the dimly lit room. The longer the moment lasts the more you start to realize just how much you’d changed in the last two years. 

The reality of just how...tame...you’d become, obedient...was quietly becoming unbearable. Finally you couldnt take the silence anymore.

“What do you want?” he could easily have you flogged for daring to be so informal but you doubted that was his intention. 

He turned his gaze back to you but didn’t speak, awkwardly fiddling with something small and round in his hands. It might have been intimidating, if you hadn’t grown up around people like this. Instead it struck you as...oddly unsure, like  _ he _ was quite sure what exactly he was doing. 

“It’s easier to just assume he’s a liar.” You say softly, giving him an out. He doesn’t want to be here, that’s obvious, only finding you to satisfy some misplaced sense of duty. You are more than happy to release him of his feelings of responsibility...maybe not  _ happy _ ...but still willing. 

“He wasn’t.” It wasn’t a question. You frown, not quite comfortable with the direction this conversation was going.

“It doesn’t matter. That was then. All that matters is now.” He stops rolling the little metal ball between his hands, gripping it tightly. “This is what I am now.”

“That’s not-“ he looked away, sounding frustrated “that’s not The Way.” 

“Yeah, well that depends on your definition of The Way.” You grit your teeth.

“There is only one Way.” He answers clearly. You turn away, unable to match his confidence. You hear him sigh before he tries again. “I haven’t heard Mando’a since leaving the Fighting Corps. I didn’t expect to hear it here of all places.”

“Fighting Corps?” You turn, bewildered. “You're a Child of the Watch?”

“I was a foundling.” He said simply “they took me in. I only recently became aware there are other...sects…”

“I was born into the Watch.” You're almost breathless, unable to beat back the sudden relief you feel. It’s irrational, especially considering your last interaction with members of your group but the heart is hardly ever rational. “I learned Mando’a before basic. I don’t think I ever heard my mother speak anything else. If you’d come here 5 years ago you’d have heard enough Mando’a to last a lifetime.”

“Were there others?” He asked leaning forward.

“Used to be a whole community, not far from here. There was a covert under the capital but someone eventually decided it wasn’t a good place to raise children. 6 or so families, including mine all hidden away in the mountains to the north.”

“Sounds...nice” it’s genuine, if a little awkward. You can’t help but smile.

“It was. But secrets don’t last forever.”

“What happened?”

“Our Armorer died, unexpectedly. His son was a degenerate. A gambler with a spice problem. He hid it well until he couldn’t. Most had left by then. I should have, but this was my home. My mother had died protecting it and I thought I’d do the same. Two years ago his band of thugs sold the locational data to some raiders. Last I heard they cleared the place out.”

“That’s how you ended up here?” Soft, but you could feel the heat behind it. To you it was like reciting history, having detached yourself from the memory’s. 

“No. I was the only female left old enough to have sworn the oath. Before the raid I’d gone to speak with someone I’d considered a friend, looking for someone who might help. He drugged me somehow. I woke up 3 days later in a slave transport.” You try to sound as detached but it’s almost impossible “they took my armor with them. It was gone when I woke up. Honestly that’s still the worst part. It was my mother’s, and her mother before that.” 

Suddenly he was standing. The movement was so abrupt and unexpected you flinch back when he reaches for you. He stops, arm outstretched in front of him as if waiting for something. 

You stare at it, unsure what to do next. He turns his palm towards the ceiling and wiggle his fingers expectantly. 

“Give me your hand.” His tone is absolute, as if you would argue. You don’t, gently placing your finger against the warm, worn leather. Just as gingerly he wraps his much larger hand around yours and the two of you stand in silence for another moment. The sensation is pleasant and you make no move to pull away but with him so close you can feel an odd energy about him. He gives your hand a sudden, reassuring squeeze before breaking the silence. “I’m sorry...this is going to hurt.”

You don’t have time to even process the words before he pulls you forward, spinning you around and forcing you down onto your knees by twisting your arm behind you. His other hand grips the base of your neck and forces you forward over the metal crate he’d been sitting on a moment ago. To stunned by the sudden violence to put up any sort of fight your arm falls useless to your side when he releases it. 

“Hold still” he’s voice coming from just above you as he pulls something metallic from inside his boot. Even if you had it in you to fight, he had you pinned. 

He must have been reaching for a knife because a second later you feel a slight pressure followed by pain from just below your hairline, just above where his hand held you. You tried to struggle then, but he simply added more pressure to his hand and continued. Unable to do anything you shut your eyes, refusing to shed a tear. If this was how you’d die, at least you’d do it with dry eyes. 

The pain became a burn as the smell of scorched hair filled your nose. You grit your teeth, confused and more frightened than you wish to admit.

Then came an almost soothing coldness. It washed over your neck as if poured from above, taking the biting edge off the throbbing.

And then you were free. The mandalorian let go of you, backing away to stand against the door. You don’t move at first, frozen. Then, slowly you lift yourself up and reach to touch behind your head. You wince, but let your fingers map out the wound.

“Sorry.” He sounded guilty, almost ashamed. You freeze and slowly turn to look up at him. He holds out his hand, exactly like last time, palm facing the ceiling. This time you don’t flinch, you just stare at it. 

This time is also different for another reason. His hand isn’t empty. Sitting in the center of the now bloody leather is a small, metallic thing. It’s about the size of a pill capsule and just as bloody as his gloves. 

A slave chip, your brain provides slowly. A small deadly device inserted into or near the brain of a slave that, should they escape, would kill them instantly. 

“Sometimes they activate when they are removed without authorization, so I had to do it quickly...in case someone was listening.” You looked up into the visor of his helmet, which was turned slightly to the side as if unable to look at you. 

“How did you-“ but your cut yourself short, already knowing the answer.

“I can scan for mechanics, or any inorganic signature.” He shifted awkwardly, tapping his helmet. “It took a little while but luckily it was somewhere I could get to. I was pretty sure, considering you weren’t a kid when it was implanted but you never know.”

“W-why?” It comes out closer to a whisper as the tears you held back before start to choke you up. 

“This is the Way.” Suddenly your on your feet, lunging forward to wrap your arms around the stunned man's neck. His armor is cold against your skin, digging uncomfortably into you as you pull yourself closer to him, burying your face in the folds of his cape. 

He stands, unsure for a moment as you hug him. Then, slowly, you feel his arms wrap around you gently as he guides you both to sit on the floor. You don’t know how long you stay like that, crying soundlessly into your saviors shoulder as he leans against the wall, holding you tightly to him as he runs his fingers through your hair reassuringly. 

He doesn’t try to hurry you. After a while, realizing you're basically sobbing all over a stranger, you move as if to pull away. To your surprise he resists, not enough to stop you if you keep trying but enough to tell you he isn’t quite ready for the moment to end. 

The sentiment is almost overwhelming for you. This man, this stranger who shows up out of nowhere and grants you new life, is such a stranger to simple physical affection he’s savoring this awkward, messy, uncomfortable embrace like it’s the last one he’ll ever have. He made no move to take advantage or sour the moment and you couldn’t help but love him for it. 

So you stay like that. You’d have happily stayed there forever if he wanted. 

“What will you do now?” He asked, voice quiet in your ear. You don’t answer right away, unsure of how to answer. 

“I don’t suppose staying here in this shed with you is an option.” You half joke, resting you chin on his shoulder. He doesn’t respond but you can feel a good natured ‘hmmm’ rumble through his chest. “I don’t really know. I’ll have to get off this planet, that’s for sure.”

“You won’t go home?” You realize suddenly the hand running through your hair lost it’s glove at some point.

“Not really a home to go back too.” It’s almost hypnotic, the smooth rhythm and gentle tug. “Though I suppose it’s a start. Why?”

He sighed in response, reluctantly, and moved his hand from your hair down your arm, pushing you gentle away from him.

“We should go.” He said seriously, much to your dismay. It’s as if the universe no longer exists, so long as you stay hidden away in here. You can let yourself fantasize freely for a while, remember what it’s like to love and be loved. Be a family. 

But you know it’s not true. You will step out into the evening air and the spell will break. You’ll just be two strangers again, connected by a similar background but no less unknown. Part of you can’t help but cringe that you let all this get this far. 

You sigh heavily as you lean back, getting ready to stand. 

“Unless-“ you pause, looking up at his hesitant tone. “Unless you’d rather go alone.”

“Go...where?” You cock your head to the side, confused. How else were you going to go? Your master...former master...would be looking for you by morning and you needed to be somewhere safe before then. You knew, wherever the Mandalorian was...that’s the first place they’d look. 

He wasn’t looking at you again, head turned to the side. The hand still resting on your arm twitched nervously as he shifted a little. 

“Never mind...forget it.” He grumbled, embarrassed. “I’ve just never seen a mandalorian...a place others like us have lived. I don’t-“

You gasp as it clicks.

“You want to see the village?!” You try to hide your surprise and elation but know it’s a failure. “You’d go back with me?”

“It’s fine, I shouldn’t have asked.” He shifts his weight forward, gently untangling you from each other and stands. 

He’s  _ lonely _ .

The thought hit you as you watch him shuffle away from you slowly. You hadn’t grown up the same way he would have. Foundlings who are raised by the corps don't have families, or clans. They are instructed in groups, more like a school than a home. You’d been brought up surrounded by others, friends, family members, foundling...you’d had a mother who loved you, kissed and hugged you, showed you how to do all the things you’d need to do. She was a loud, tactile woman with a heart as big as the night sky but you were her only daughter. 

“I need to lay low for a few days.” You state, before he gets too far. “Meet me in the old capital ruins in 4 days. To the left of the central fountain you’ll find a passage, it leads to the covert. I’ll be there. From there it’s a day and a half walk to the village, so bring whatever you need. I can’t promise we’ll find anything useful when we get there but the land around it is full of food so we won’t starve.” 

He doesn’t speak, just watched you for a long time before nodding once. You repeat the action.

“4 days, but I’ll wait an extra two if need be. Any longer then that and I’ll need to move on.” You reach out to him, taking his still bare hands in yours. It’s the first time you’ve actually touched him, you realize as you thread your fingers together. His hands are almost as worn as his gloves, covered in calluses and old scars, but they are warm and alive. A reminder that he is indeed just a man underneath all that metal and impossible kindness. “Thank you.”

You press the back of his hand to your forehead, an old world show of gratitude and devotion your father once taught you. Lowering them you open the cellar door and step into the now fully dark street. He follows behind, making no move to break contact until you are both standing under the stars. 

You give one final squeeze as you release his hand. Still, he lingers for a moment, keeping contact until the last possible moment when you step too far away and your fingers finally slip from his. 

“4 days.” He calls, nodding once. Then he was gone, long confident strides carrying him out of the alley and back into the street beyond. 

You stand alone in the darkness for a moment, letting your hand slip back behind your neck again.

A wild grin slides across your face at the dull pain your prodding triggers. Without it you aren’t sure you’d still believe it just happened. He’d cauterize the wound, that explained the burning you’d smelled, so there was almost no blood, and applied some sort of healing salve. 

If you were lucky it would leave a scar.

You were free. Actually, truly free. You’d stopped imagining this moment not long after being sold, but never had you ever thought it would happen like this. 

One more moment of basking in the knowledge was all you allowed yourself before you turned and made your way in the opposite direction, deeper into the alley. First you needed to get out of these clothes, find something less conspicuous. 

You had no money so your only option was to steal. Honestly you’d probably have chosen burglary even if you’d had credits. The fewer people who could say they saw you the better. 

It didn’t take long to find an empty and unguarded home. There wasn’t a lot of crime in this village so most people simply relied on locks or gates to keep people out. 

While you lacked the brute strength and stature of your traditional mandalorian warrior you did have a certain knack for the less aggressive side of things. Your long, nimble fingers and quick mind made lock picking and code breaking easy and your smaller size made you a natural stealth fighter. 

By the time the herold droid called in the new day you were halfway to the capital in a simple blue and yellow tunic, black pants, and a sturdy pair of leather boots. You’d even managed to find a pair that fit you, though you’d had to try 3 houses before you did. You’d also managed to find a working blaster, a reasonable amount of credits, and a slightly worn gray and leather cloak with a decent sized hood. Your old clothes had promptly been thrown into the river, though you doubted anyone would fall for it. 

They would discover you gone by first light and the first few hours would be dedicated to trying to locate a body. It would probably be noon before they realized you’d managed to truly escape. You hope they didn’t give the mandalorian too much trouble, not that they could do anything. There was no proof he’d had anything to do with this, so they’d be forced to move on. 

There were ways, of course, to find a runaway slave but they were used almost never. Not only was it expensive, but technically slavery was illegal under the Republic so they couldn’t go through any of the legitimate channels. Plus they ran the risk of word getting out. For a normal slave owner this wasn’t too bad but for a man like her former master, if his clients caught wind that he’d let a slave  _ escape _ ...who’s to say the same thing won’t happen with whoever they purchase from him next. 

Still it was better to be safe. 4 days would be long enough. You were confident that, though the people who once populated it were gone, the covert itself hadn’t been compromised. No one would look for you there. Not unless you wanted them too.

  
  
  



	2. Aliit Be Birov

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary of Mando’a terms in the end notes, though if you’d prefer I put them here let me know!

You grew up in the rain. Almost every memory you had was set to the soundtrack of droplets against metal or stone. Good, bad, or somewhere in between it was like a universal constant. 

Then you’d been sold and shipped off to a desert compound on the other side of your little planet and only then did you realize how much of your life simple precipitation had permeated.

Nights were too quiet, days too hot. Your skin cracked and bled under bone dry skys, your feet blistering and burning against sun scorched earth. 

Now you were back in the lush, wet lands of your birth and still...nothing. The whole trip here, and the few days you’d spent before meeting your hero is shining beskar, you had prayed for rain. 

But you never even saw a single cloud. Not one.

Until the end of the 6th day. 

You had arrived at the entrance to the abandoned covert right on schedule. The place was as deserted as you remember. Situated below the runes of the old capital it was generally safe from any wanders stumbling upon it.

Legend says the land was cursed, leading to the abandonment of the old city and the relocation about half a mile east. Locals didn’t come out this way, and anything of value had been taken from the decrepit buildings long before the underground sanctuary had been built so those looking for adventure didn’t really bother coming this way either. 

Still you were on guard until you confirmed all the security measures were still intact. 

The place was a mess. The traitors clearly ransacked the place, leaving it void of anything you might call useful. They even stripped the forge for parts. 

Still, you couldn’t leave it this way. Like the rain, the red clay maze has been a near constant theme in your formation. It was where you learned your first lessons, your history, forged your first weapon, accepted your helmet.

Swore your oath. 

It was the last place you ever saw your Mother and fathers faces, and they yours. The last time they kissed your cheeks and held your eyes with theirs. The last time you saw them smile, saw them cry. 

You’d been 3 years old, the age when your mandalorian training truly began. Before that children aren’t considered ‘alive’ in any important way. Up until the dawn of your third birthday your parents had been permitted to remove her helmet in your presence without risking their oath. You were still technically permitted to remove your helmet at anytime before taking your oath at the age of 13, but it was considered a failure on the part of the parents to properly instill the Way in the child who did. 

You remember the feeling, the darkness inside the cold metal. The sound of your soft breath, the wing beats of your heart, amplified by a thousand as you sat in these very halls. Your tiny voice had sounded so grand as it filtered through, forged just for you that very day, as you repeated the same simple rhyme you’d said a million times. 

Ba’jur bal Beskar’gam

Ara’nov, aliit 

Mando’alor-

An vencuyan mhi 

Education and armor,

Self-defense, our tribe,

Our language, and our leader-

All help us survive

You’d never feel that anything had been missing before that day...but somehow, placing that helm on your head, even as a young child...had made you feel whole. 

Now, that was gone. Even if you did manage to find your armor somehow, you would never be able to wear it. Not in its entirety, the way it was meant to be worn. 

You would forever be incomplete, a mandalorian apart from those who truly walked the Way. All you could hope for now was to live through the warriors you raise, should you ever have the chance. 

You spend the first 4 days clearing the debris and decay from the sprawling labyrinth, resting only when necessary to eat. By the evening of the 5th day you’d done all you could. 

You had also made a decision, one you’d been considering since the night you were freed. 

So, it was with new convictions and a heavy heart that you silently watched the road beneath the clear, starry night sky.

The dawn didn’t move you from your spot, though the heat of the midday sun saw you shift nervously as your eyes never left the open, painfully empty gravel pathway. 

Your mood grew darker with the sky as day gave way to evening, and finally to night. 

The very first drops of rain startled you. You hadn’t even noticed the clouds gathering, focused on searching the horizon. You look away now, and up towards the sky. Rain, cool and soothing, begins to truly fall them, soon running rivets down the cracked walls and leaving clear tracks on your dusty face. 

You sit as long as you can, face pointed upwards, before you realize you don’t have a choice anymore. 

You stand, legs a bit shaky after almost two days of immobility, and scan the rode once more.

It remains as empty as the pit in your stomach that has been steadily growing since the evening of the 4th day. 

We should go

You collect the few things you’d managed to scrounge up into a small canvas satchel and pull on your cloak. Your clothes and hair were already a little damp but it was only a little rain so nothing you couldn’t handle 

I’ve never seen somewhere people like us have lived

The night is dark but you know the way. You reach the edge of the city and begin the first of many ascents as the flat land gives way to the rocky wilderness. As you reach the top of that first incline you pause, suddenly hit with a wave of anxiety. 

A sound, less heard and more...felt...ripples down your spine. It’s as if someone is calling your name, a name you haven’t heard spoken since the day you last saw your mother’s lips form the words. You spin around, almost frantically.

Below you can see for what feels like miles. Your eyes run the length of that worn gravel road all the way back to the gates to the new city. The clouds above have broken and both moons are shining full and bright. 

Nothing moves. You are as alone now as you've ever been, only the ghosts of your mind to keep you company. Still you stand, soaking in a sight you never thought you’d see again.

For a moment you're thankful for your solitude as the rain turns slightly salty with tears you’d been unable to shed as you finally turn and walk into the thick brush, completely obscuring any further view backwards.

———————

You awake to the smell of smoke. It must have rained again in the night, putting out the fire you’d built to keep away curious animals. 

You yawn, rolling over and out from between the thin slants of rock you’d used as a shelter. No sooner were your feet on the ground before your hand went to your stolen blaster. 

Your fire was still going...flames lapping at an unfamiliar log only partially burned. 

Someone was here, or had been recently. 

Crouching on the damp earth you bring your hand up to toggle the settings on your visor...only to be reminded by the feel of leather under your fingers instead of cool metal. Only the hood of your cloak covered your face now and it wasn’t going to be much help. 

“Haar’chak” you hiss, angry at your foolishness, both for allowing the familiar surroundings to cloud your mind and for the obvious slack in your survival instincts. It had only been two year. 

A snap to your left grabbed your attention just in time to roll out of the way as a dart thudded harmlessly into a tree. Another barely missed your left arm as you weaved and took cover, blaster out and ready. 

“Come on out little Lori!” A sickly sweet male voice called. 

‘Orik,’ you winced, thinking to yourself ‘He sent an actual fucking Hunter?!’

You recognize the man's voice, though you’d never actually met. The Bounty Hunter’s Guild didn’t operate on your planet but that didn’t mean there weren’t those who hadn’t stepped up to fill a similar role. 

While their basic job may be the same, these hunters differed from guild members in a number of important ways. 

First, their rates are cheaper, but they tend to be messy. You don’t higher a Hunter if you want a guaranteed live delivery. Guild members weren’t required to bring in their quarries alive but it was generally the assumption that they would at least try. 

Second, they work almost exclusively outside the law. No bail jumpers or escaped convicts. The provincial security forces had their own people for that. Hunters were the long arm of the rich or desperate.

Third, they never hunt alone. 

As if on cue the bushes behind you burst open as a Rodian slashed forward with a wicked looking vibroblade. You dodge, firing off two quick shots. One went wide, much to your dismay, but the second found its mark dropping the bug eyed creature where he stood. 

Thinking fast you grab the dead man's weapon and take off. You need to find a better place to make a stand. You don’t stand a chance unless you can find a way to get the upper hand.

“Run all you want little Lori!” The voice calls. It’s close but you're unable to pinpoint exactly what direction. “Kri does love a chassssssseeeeee”

Another dart whistles past your head as you slide into a sharp turn around a large boulder. You are thankful for your cloak but it isn’t able to protect you completely from the sticks and branches in your path. 

Finally the foliage thins, giving way to a broken terrain of rocky outcroppings and scattered boulders. 

You zig zag as the sound of blaster fire comes from behind you. You return fire without looking, focused on finding a defensible location. 

But it seems two years had changed more than you’d anticipate. A dead end where there had once been a clear path forces you to stop. 

“Sweet little Lori.” You spin around just as your pursuer leaps towards you, pinning you again the stone. “Don’t worry, Kri is here.”

The Dug let out a trumphant laugh as he moved one of his feet-like hands to wrap around your throat. His upper limbs kept him balanced as he used his final appendage to relieve you of your blaster and knife. 

Two more men appeared behind him, one human and the other a race you didn’t recognize. 

Kri lifted the vibroblade you’d taken from the dead man, twirling it around his dexterous fingers as he started to hum.

“Been a bad girl, little Lori.” He almost sang, chuckling. “A very bad girl. After everything they’ve done for you...after everything...this isn’t how you say thank you. No manners. Kri will have to teach you-“

A bang, then a sound like the pop of a dust balloon cut his words short. He turned, shouting something to his fellow Hunter…

Hadn’t there been two of them? You could have sworn.

Then another pop and all of a sudden you and the Dug were alone, the man standing behind Kri suddenly disintegrating into nothing. Only his clothes remained. 

“What the-“ Kri turned to you, all of the humor drained from his ugly face as he tightened his grip on your throat. “Bitch, what sort of tricks”

You answer by placing all your weight against your shoulders, using all your strength to kick out against the Dugs center of gravity. Stunned, he releases his grip for a moment, long enough to allow you drop your head and dig your teeth into his hand. 

Kri howled, slashing out with the blade. You're able to bring your arm up in time to prevent him from hitting anything important but receive a nasty gash for your trouble. 

You pull away, taking a chunk of his flesh with you, spitting it out as you backpedal. 

“You slave trash!” He spits, hand reaching for his blaster. He finds only an empty holster.

The last thing he sees is the barrel of his own gun, stolen in the middle of your skirmish, and your finger as you pull the trigger. 

Then only the soft sound of rain...

Until you lean forward and vomit onto the grass, gasping for breath after nearly having your throat crushed. 

You didn’t have much time to recover though. Men don’t generally just combust like that.

You may be rusty but even you know Amban sniper rifles don’t shoot themselves. 

Part of you wouldn’t mind being taken out by such an impressive weapon. You’d always had a particular affection for distance weaponry, not being naturally skilled at close combat. 

Still, you weren’t quite ready to throw in the towel yet. Kri’s blaster was a little big but obviously a good piece, and you were fairly sure you had an idea of the shooter's direction. If you could manage to slip behind-

“Su cuy’gar!” You nearly drop the gun, sprinting out from behind your cover. There, sitting atop a small bolder like he’d been waiting patiently for something was the mandalorian. “Gar ven’nari copanni vengaan”

You're speechless for a moment, still not sure if you’d been hit by some weird spice dart or whatever. The mandalorian slips off his perch, feet hitting the ground with an appropriately heavy thud and starts to stride towards you. The rising sun catches the edge of his armor as his cape flutters majestically in the slight breeze. 

He’s almost reached you by the time you snap back into yourself and you do the first thing that comes to mine.

You throw the stolen blaster at him. 

It bounces harmlessly off his chest plate but it stops him in his tracks. Slowly he turns to look down at the misused weapon and back at your furious, muddy face. 

“You're late.” You say through gritted teeth. He cocks his head to the side and crosses his arms.

“You’re out of practice.” He points out evenly. “And you’re bleeding.”

You walk forward, picking the discarded gun off the ground and drop it into your now empty holster. Your arm hurts, but not enough to be worried about it so you don’t answer. You don’t have an argument for his first point either so you don’t respond.

It’s not that you're actually angry with him, but this is now the second time he’s shown up and saved your life and you aren’t exactly sure what you feel. 

So you just start walking. After a moment’s pause he follows. It doesn’t take long for him to catch up with his longer strides.

“Decided to take the scenic route?” You ask after a few minutes. 

“I was arrested.” he just shrugged like it’s something that tends to happen. 

“So how did you find me?”

“Were you trying not to be found?” He asked. You falter for a moment at his tone, unaware he had it in him to tease. In response you make a face.

“I didn’t think they’d actually send someone after me.” You admitted. “And I am a little rusty.”

“You’ve been a little busy.” He replied softly “and it turned out ok.”

“Thanks to you.”

“You did half the work.” He pointed out, generously. “4 men went out on that hunt, none will return. I only took out two.”

“That’s sweet but what happens next time, when it’s just me? Half is still enough to get the job done.”

He didn’t answer and the two of you continue on in a much more comfortable silence. The rain had stopped and the walk was pleasant, if a little dull. You keep to the shelter of the rocks and occasional ridges when possible until the ground begins to become steeper. 

You stop for a short rest at the foot of an almost vertical wall of rock. 

“The village is only a short distance over this cliff, but the only way up is a bit of a trek. There’s not many places to rest so catch your breath now.” You turn to hand your companion a canteen of water only to find he isn’t listening. Instead he’s backed up a few yards away, head tipped back as he looks up towards the top of the cliff. “Hey! What? Never seen a mountain before?”

“How far from here?” He asked, like you hadn’t just told him.

“About a day’s hike.”

“No,” you raise an eyebrow “if we go straight, how far.”

“Uh...I don’t know. It’s just over the ridge on the far side of this cliff but there’s no way to climb it. It’s smooth, thanks to the wind and rain, and it won’t hold a climbing anchor.”

“Good thing we won’t be climbing.” He said as he walked quickly back to you. Without so much as another word he sweeps your feet out from under you, picking you up like you weigh nothing at all. “Hold on.” 

“Wha-“ your already halfway up the side of the cliff before you realize what’s going in. 

You're flying, or more accurately he’s flying, Rising Phoenix propelling you both towards the sky. 

He almost drops you when you start to struggle. 

“Hey!” He shouts, his grip tightened painfully as he’s knocked off course by your panicked movements. “HEY! Stop that or we’ll both crash!”

Unable to reply but desperate for that exact thing not to happen you freeze. The rest of the flight, realistically only a few moments, is spent with your arms wrapped tightly around his neck and face burrowed so far into his cape you can feel the way his shoulders rise and fall with each breath.

He smells nice for someone who is clearly absolutely insane. 

Even once your back on solid ground you refuse to let go, particularly hoping you’ll smother him for what was clearly some sort of assassination attempt. 

It takes him a little longer then is perhaps normal for him to start peeling your arms away. 

“Don’t ever do that again.” You breathe once he’s successfully separated you from his neck. He just stands there, watching you. “You really need to learn a thing or two about asking before you just-“

“It was faster.” He says simply.

“I know it’s faster, but that’s not the point!” You growl, though the effect is slightly limited by the wobbly state of your legs. “Consent is important before you almost kill someone.”

“You didn’t almost die.” He said flatly “have you never trained with the Phoenix?”

“Of course not. I’m not insane!” You run your fingers through your hair as you work to slow your beating heart. He’s staring at you again “what?”

“I’ve never met a mandalorian who’s afraid of heights.” He doesn’t sound judgmental, just curious and a little teasing. 

“I’m not afraid of heights.” You sigh, exasperated. “I grew up on the side of a mountain-“

You gesture around you, only to lose track of your thoughts as you finally look at where you’d landed. 

Originally it had been a crater of some kind, though whatever had made it was long gone. The walls were smooth and made of the same red stone as the covert, tall enough to almost completely block out the sun during most of the day. 

Currently though, with the sun high in the sky, the whole area was bathed in light. In the center was a large fire pit, now toppled slightly from its elevated platform. Cracked stone benches surrounded the pit and a low wall surrounded the whole thing. The rest of the area was empty, except for broken wood and stones that had once formed fences or small structures. 

Doorways dotted the edge of the crater, leading into a number of hollowed out caves that had served as storerooms, armory, practice rooms, and living quarters. Two openings, larger than the others, led to long hallways that emptied out on either side of the mountain, one to the north and the other to the south. Above both of these was a large stone carving, a mythosaur and one of the only real reminders of who had once called this place home. 

Your previous conversation abandoned, you walk, dazed, around the eerily silent place until something catches your attention. 

Slowly you make your way towards a small pile of rubble near the opening to one of the storerooms. 

Lying just beyond, with nothing but the tattered remnants of synthetic cloth to cover it, is a skeleton. 

The bones are slightly scattered, and you can tell that some are missing, but it’s unmistakably a human adult. 

You stand silently for a long time, just staring. You might have known this person. You might have fought with them, trained with them, laughed with them, loved them.

But you couldn’t be sure.

You would never know.

Because they could just as easily be the remains of someone who’s taken all of this away from you. Someone you’d never met who’d invaded this place with greed in their heart and blood on their hands. 

All you knew for certain was you were alone now. Everyone who’d ever known you, ven’kar’taylir, was gone. 

You had been a clan of many, thriving and full of life. 

But not anymore. 

With a sigh you turn away, back to where the mandalorian is waiting, unmoving. 

“I’m sorry.” He said as you approach. “It must have been beautiful.”

“It still is.” You smile despite the numbness in your chest. “My clan built this place with their own hands, spent their lives here honoring their oath and their dedication to each other, and they died like warriors. There is nothing here not to be proud of, nothing that doesn’t speak to their greatness.”

“Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la” your companion nods soberly. 

“Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la” you repeat, then breathe deeply. “Feel free to look around. I’ve got some work to do.”

Silently he watched you as you began collecting what scraps of wood you could find. After a while he seems to lose interest and takes your advice, wandering away into one of the old practice rooms. 

You’d managed to get a small pile started when he suddenly appears beside you, arms full of what looks like old broken furniture. Without a word he sets it down on your pile and walks back for where he came, emerging a few minutes later with another armful. 

The numbness retreats a little with every trip he makes, until you have enough. 

Carefully you return to the pitiful pile of bones and begin to collect them too. You’d come across three other bodies, all equally skeletal, during your wood collection. Each one you collect and place in a separate pile, setting the skull down on top. 

Silently, again after watching you, the mandalorian does the same with two bodies he’d come across during his search. 

The two of you make a final search of the area until you are satisfied you haven’t missed anyone. 

6 human lives, now nothing but a small pile of brown and white bone. 

Mandalorians don’t generally have a lot of specific respect for dead bodies. They are just vessels, like a jug of water that can only be filled once. Once empty, purpose fulfilled, they are discarded. Most mandalorians are buried in mass graves, if they are buried at all. 

It’s their armor that is saved, the thing that makes a mandalorian different from others who may share physical characteristics. 

Despite your best efforts you hadn’t been able to locate a single piece of armor. Either these were not the bones of Mando’ad or their armor had been taken from them by those who left them here to rot. 

Either way you couldn’t simply leave them where they were. 

So you built a pyre from the wood you’d collected around the 6 skulls perched atop what was left of their bodies. There was nothing left to worry about burning so you simply lit the thing aflame, pushed up against a wall, and stood back. 

You sat vigil for a long time, alone, before you realized you hadn’t seen your armored helper in a while. 

You find him in the ruined armory, staring at the carvings covering the wall behind the forge. He reaches out to run his fingers over the symbols, but pause when he hears you enter, half turning to glance at you. Slowly he lowers his hand, almost looking guilty. 

“It’s the clan record.” Your voice is scratchy from smoke and emotion. You clear it and continue, walking to stand next to him. “The names of everyone who’s ever been a member of this clan is on this wall. Back before the fall of Mandalor, before the new government banished those of us who still held true to the old Way, we were apparently quite something.”

“And you?” He asked

“And me what?”

“Are you-“ he paused, realizing what he was about to ask. All mandalorians have names, but they are generally used for clerical purposes. It’s very rare for children of the watch to share their names with anyone outside of their clan. You smile softly to yourself. 

“Yes.” You reach out and take his hand, pulling him gently forward and guiding his fingertips towards a small section near the end of the long list. Once they make contact with the crudely cut symbols you let go, but he doesn’t pull away. Slowly he traces the indents, as if unable to see them but still intend on learning their meaning. “That’s me, though no one has called me that in forever. At the compound, when I was a slave, they simply called me ‘Lori’ which I think was supposed to be a cute play on the usual ‘Mando’ nickname.”

It could have been the crackle of the fire outside but you could almost swear you heard him click his tongue in disgust. He pulled his hand back and pointed towards a large picture carved above the names. 

“Your signet?” He asked, changing the subject. 

“Hmm.” You nod, gazing up at it. “It’s an Anooba, apparently. I’ve never seen one but I’m told they are pack hunters, swift and deadly.”

“I’ve seen them.” He looked down at you. “It’s an honor to have one as your clan sign.”

“What about you?” You ask, playfully tapping the beskar creature on his armor. “We definitely don't have any of these around here.”

“It’s a mudhorn.” He said, though something about his tone made you frown. 

“How many are there who wear your signet?” You ask. He doesn’t answer at first, just gazes up at the list of names and the proud beast above them. “It’s ok if-“

“Just me.” He said finally “though there was once two of us.”

With a sigh he turns and walks back out into the courtyard. You watch him go before turning back to the wall, pressing your hand to the cool stone before leaning forward and doing the same with your forehead. 

Then, with a sigh of your own, you turn to follow him back outside. 

——————

The rain starts again a few hours after the sun slips behind the crater walls so evening finds you and your mostly silent companion settled in your old sleeping quarters. 

Like everything else it is mostly empty now. A half broken table sits against one wall and a couple of threadbare blankets are still nestled in the sleeping cubbies carved into the walls. 

There are 8 in all, spaced out evenly in rows of two. Deep enough not to have to worry about falling out but easy to get out of in a pinch. The fiber bedding that once served as a mattress was pretty much gone now. The bit that you did find you used as a fire starter for the small pit in the center of the room. 

“So” you finally break the silence, unable to be alone with your thoughts anymore in this place. “What brings you to our fine neck of the galaxy? I mean originally? I never asked.”

“Bounty.” He said as he moved to sit closer to you. Raising an eyebrow, you watch as he settles in next to you, not quite close enough to touch. He holds up a small canister of something, then taps his upper arm. You're confused for a moment until you remember you still hadn’t tended to the knife wound from earlier except to wrap a makeshift bandage over it. 

You slip off your cloak and hold your arm out to give him better access as he starts to pull the bloody fabric away. 

You hear him hiss once the wound is fully exposed but don’t comment. 

“Did you catch ‘em?” You ask, trying not to wince at the slight sting of what must be bacta spray. “Or is this just you stalling?”

“Had to kill him” He snorted as he gingerly moved your arm around, searching for any more wounds. Satisfied he let his hand slide down to your elbow, then let go all together. “Don’t have a ship anymore so I had to leave him.”

“What happened to your ship?”

He didn’t answer, going quite again. You don’t push, but you're smart enough to see a pattern emerging. Silence can be as loud as an answer if you don’t mind puzzles. 

“Do you like it? Hunting?”

“It’s a job.” He answers gruffly as you feed another splinter of table into the fire. “Been doing this a long time.”

“Doesn’t mean you like it.” You point out, he just huffs and hands you your water canteen and a small bag you don’t recognize. 

“I like not starving to death.” He points out, nudging you with the canteen when you don’t immediately take it. “Drink. You haven’t all day.”

“I’m fine.” You push it away, but take the bag only to set it aside when you realize it’s full of trail rations. You are hungry but as the general numbness of everything has slowly receded you’d become more aware of the repercussions of your fight earlier that day. Most notably how painful it had become to swallow, probably due to almost being choked to death. “I don’t suppose bounty hunting comes with a lot of perks, what made you choose it?”

“Didn’t really choose it.” He shrugged, tossing the jug at you despite your refusal and leaning back against the wall. His legs were stretched out in front of him, slightly spread.

You couldn’t see his upper half from your position unless you deliberately turned to look but you could feel him. It struck you, how much of a presence he had. This was the first time the two of you had had any real downtime together without the world and it’s problems weighing heavy on one or both of you. 

“It wasn’t like we got a lot of career counselling in the Corps, and I wouldn’t have made a great soldier.” You snorted, but he ignored you “and I was good at it.”

“What happened?” You smirk, turning your torso just enough so he could see your face. He threw the bag of rations at you, hitting you in the bad arm. You look scandalized as you make a show of rubbing the point of impact.

“I found you.” He pointed out, ignoring your dramatics. “Why the sudden interest in what I do?”

“Just curious.” You turn around to face him, back to the fire. “Thinking about what to do next.”

“I don’t think-“ he cut himself off suddenly, as if he’d spoken without thinking, and looked away. 

“You didn’t think what?” You frown 

“It’s not easy.” He said into the empty room, sitting up and pulled his legs into himself. “It’s a hard life, and more often than not, a short one.”

You stare at him for a long moment, thinking. 

“I know it's hard to see it,” You say quietly, watching the fire flicker off the elegant curves of his armor “but I am mandalorian trained, same as you. Armor or not, that hasn’t changed.”

He turned slowly to look back at you, and for a moment you think he’s going to argue. Instead he seems to almost fall into himself, tipping backwards to land heavily against the wall, throwing an arm over his visor as he let out a low, almost pained groan. 

“Shit.” He hissed from the crook of his elbow. “Shit, I’m sorry. I just-“

“It’s fine.” You laugh, charmed by his remorseful display. Scooting closer you tug lightly on his arm, pulling it away from his face so he can see just how not offended you are. “To be fair, I didn’t give a very good show of it today. And I can’t really blame you anyway. Sometimes I forget- I never realized before, just how much we rely on it.”

He cocked his head down at you, your height difference more obvious when you are this close. You reach out and tap the side of his helmet, smiling bittersweetly up at him. He turns his head slightly as if to look at your hand, then back at you as you let it drop, landing naturally on the cool metal of his chestplate. 

“I mean, for the obvious: protection, detection, identification...but I never realized how loud the world was. How extreme the light and the dark could get. How much we give away in facial expressions. I almost drove myself mad in the beginning. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t stand the sudden sensory overload of being around people without-“ you drag in a shaky breath, laughing at the emotion in your voice. “I mean I never had to think about where I was looking or what my face was doing before, and all of a sudden...it was like everyone could suddenly read my fucking mind.”

“So it’s been hard, like getting back at it after a debilitating injury. Like I’m suddenly blind.” You drop your eyes to watch your fingers trace the grooves on his breastplate. When you look up again he’s still staring at you, the intensity obvious even from behind the beskar. “The way I see it I could either give up, run off and marry some moisture farmer on the other side of the galaxy, pretend I’m just like everyone else…let the mandalorian in me die...”

“Or?” From this close you can feel the words as much as hear them. It reminds you of the first time you’d really met, less than a standard week ago, when he changed your life forever. It was thanks to him you had a choice at all, an impossible debt to repay. 

“Or I can adapt. I learn to fight with what I have now, do my best to honor as much of my oath as I can so in the future my children will be better for it.” There’s a fire in your eyes, though the words still come out a little shaky. “I choose to evolve. I was raised among warriors, a mandalorian from the first moment I drew breath and I will be one until the moment I no longer can.” 

He reached out, almost startling you when the worn leather of his gloves made contact with the side of your face but you made no move to pull away. Your heart flutters in your chest, stealing your breath as he runs his thumb along your cheek. 

It’s all a little alarming, having never felt anything like this before. It’s as if you’d been turned to stone. What little control you have over your lungs ends when he cards his hand through your hair, tucking it behind your ear. 

As if determined to make this the moment you finally stop breathing for good, he follows the shell of your ear to your jawline and down to your neck with feather light fingers. Slowly, but with a confidence that makes you very aware just how warm it’s become all of a sudden, he slips his large hand to cup the base of your neck and pulls you forward. 

You aren’t able to stop the involuntary hiss of pain as he pushes the bruised muscles of your throat past what they are willing to take. 

He actually jumps backwards. His whole body moving a full inch or more in one jerking motion. 

The suddenness of the action, after what felt like hours of nothing but slow, soft movement started you back to reality. 

Unable to stop yourself, and probably a little loopy from oxygen deprivation, you knock yourself over backwards with the force of your laughter. The pain in your neck forces you to contain yourself quickly though.

When you do finally get yourself under control enough to sit back up, still grinning, you are met with a very apprehensive mandalorian. 

“Sorry!” You say quickly at his defensive posture, pointing to your neck. “The Dug Hunter from earlier tried to break my neck, it’s hard to tell under the soot. It’s just a little tender.”

Almost immediately he uncurled himself from where he’d been trying to become one with the wall and reached forward, satisfied with your explanation. Hesitantly he placed a hand under your chin, encouraging you to move a little closer to the light. 

“Fuck.” He sounded almost sympathetic. “Why didn’t you say anything? I thought it was just dirt from earlier but it your whole fucking neck!”

“It’s not that bad.” You shrug. He huffs at you as he pours some water on a strip of old fabric and starts wiping away the layer of grime over what must be a fairly impressive bruise. “I can do that myself you know.”

You raise an eyebrow as he bats your hand away, but don’t argue. His hands are gentle, practiced, as if it’s something he’s done a hundred times. Just enough pressure to clean without harming the delicate thing underneath.

“Next time, tell me.” You can hear the frustration in his voice, slightly over the top for the situation. Another piece to the progressively more tragic picture you are seeing. 

“Can I ask you something?” He stops for a moment, arm outstretched and unmoving.

“No.” He said seriously as starts up again, prompting you to move your head to the side. He’s more focused on his hands now, shoulders hunched forward. 

“Ok,” you say, meaning it. When his posture doesn’t change you reach up and grab his hand, wrapping both of yours around his closed fist. “Hey. It’s fine. You don’t have to tell me anything, you know, really. I’m happy to hear it, if you want, but- you don’t owe me anything.”

You smile, hoping it didn’t sound like you were being passive aggressive. He seemed to find you genuine and the tension slipped from his shoulders. 

“I’ll take the first watch.” You stretch, standing before he can argue. Then, still feeling a little giddy you reach behind him and snag the Amban rifle from where it was leaning against the wall. “But I’m stealing your gun.”

“Fine.” He said, then added “but only if you drink something. I’m not losing another one of those because you die of dehydration out there.”

“Deal.” You grin, catching the ammo belt and canteen he tosses your way, pretending not to see him shake his head as you practically skip out to find a spot to settle into for the next few hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn’t sure if this should go at the beginning or the end...feel free to share your thoughts!
> 
> Chapter 2 Mando’a Glossary:
> 
> Aliit be Birov - clan of many 
> 
> Haar’chak - damn it
> 
> Osik - shit
> 
> Su cuy’gar! - a friendly greeting, literally ‘so you're still alive!’
> 
> Gar ven’nari copanni vengaan - (this was a bit of a chop job on my part. There no word for ‘to look’ or ‘to see’ so I used the word ‘to act’) you looked (acted) like you needed a hand
> 
> ven’kar’taylir - to have known/ to have held in your heart
> 
> Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la - ‘not gone, merely marching far away’ - a reference to the dead
> 
> Come hang out with me on tumblr @ Razor-Crest-Co-Pilot


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